


Coming Home

by EminEmily



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, F/M, Heaven, M/M, Reunions, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EminEmily/pseuds/EminEmily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Dean remembers is darkness, and then he wakes up. But where?<br/>(Otherwise known as Dean is dead, but it doesn't seem like it, because everyone else is, too).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, I once told myself that I would never write any story where any member of Team Free Will (by that I mean Dean, Sam, and Cas) would ever be dead. At least not permanently, but we all break our own promises someday, and here's me breaking mine. There is no mourning sadness and angst here, if that will keep you from clicking away from this because everyone is dead. It's just happy reunions, trust me. There is one paragraph describing the death scene vaguely, and then one from Dean's point of view in a more detailed fashion, but neither of them are going to be the rip-your-heart-out-type death scenes that you can't read without sobbing. Nothing but Heaven and happy endings, I promise. I got the inspiration for this off of a writing prompt, and I'm sorry it's been so long since I've done anything. Senior year is a bitch. Enjoy!

_Blood. Hellhounds. Screaming. Blaring sirens, blaring horns. Lights. Sam, eyes glassy and unseeing in the passenger seat. Cas, ash-black wings burnt into the leather of the Impala's backseat. Fingers reaching to his forehead, coming back red, red dripping down his fingertips. Dean closes his eyes, and the world goes black._

 

When Dean opened his eyes, the last thing he was expecting was his old room. Not a hotel room, not his designated space in Bobby's house; his real, actual, childhood bed, the one from Lawrence, back before everything fell apart. He sat up quickly, blinking away the fog of sleep lingering in his mind, and looked around. The walls were the same, the bed was the same. Hell, he even thought he could see the door to Sam's nursery across the hallway.

Needless to say, he was confused. He stretched, still feeling muddled, and pushed the covers back over his legs. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and was surprised when the floor felt real beneath his feet. He didn't know why, but something inside him figured the whole illusion would dissolve as soon as he touched something, because that's what this was, an illusion. There was no other explanation.

Dean got up, stretched his arms over his head, and moved through the room, letting his fingers brush over the walls. He couldn't shake the sleepy feeling that covered him like a fleece blanket. He felt as if he'd had the best sleep he'd had since he was four and regularly sleeping in the bed he'd just left.

The walls felt real, the floor felt real. It all felt real, but he didn't know how it could. After he'd made his rounds, picking up old toys off shelves and putting them back, examining the family photos littered around the room for discrepancies, he turned around and went toward's Sam's door instead.

He opened the door, and a musty smell washed over him, but everything still looked real. Dean was four when this whole house burnt down around him, so it wasn't as if he'd remembered every detail of Sam's nursery, but he did have some of it ingrained into his mind, mostly from the nightmares featuring the room going up in flames. It looked accurate, too, from what he could tell. He made his way around that room, too, trailing his fingers over the walls.

When he reached the crib, he paused for a while, fingering the mink blankets lining the bottom, running a hand over the bars at the front.

This was the place where his life flourished, full of nothing but good things. This was also the place where his life was inexplicably ruined. He had mixed feelings about it all.

He found himself in the hallway after that, making his way downstairs dazedly, still keeping a hand on the wall. He felt like, if he kept his hand on the right side of the wall, he'd wind his way around the house and find his way out of the maze this must be. He started running possibilities through this head. This could be a dream, it could be a Djinn, it could be any number of things; maybe even some kind of midnight crawler he'd never faced before. This was happening more and more often lately, finding things he didn't understand.

He was in the living room before he knew it, standing by an old arm chair by the stairs. Instantly, he knew that was where John Winchester, in his golden years, had spent most of his time, probably watching the sports channel after work, Mary bending down to offer him a beer and a peck on the cheek sometimes, Dean sitting on his lap or Sam curled up in his arms, sleeping away his infancy.

Everything felt like home here, too, and none of this made any sense. Djinn dreams always carried a sense of floating on air, but not like this. Djinn dreams always had underlying paranoia in everything, small details always ended up being different. Dean always thought they were his real life for some time. He'd never woken up like this, in a place that felt like home and a museum at the same time, in a place that immediately felt like a dream of a memory, not a trick. If this wasn't a Djinn dream, or a regular dream, then what could it be?

Dean practically floated through every room downstairs, touching everything his outstretched hand could reach, testing everything. It all felt real.

The kitchen was still stocked full of food, and Dean grabbed a beer from the fridge without thinking about it, popping the cap off on the edge of the counter. If this was a trick, he may as well enjoy it while he could.

He went back into the living room, stretching out on the couch and taking a sip of the beer. This was definitely John's beer he was holding, he could tell by the overabundance of hops he could taste. John always did like beer that tasted cheap and expensive at the same time.

He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and flipped on the TV in front of him, surprised to find that it played like a modern TV, quality-wise, not like something from the 80's, which was what he was expecting from the way it looked. The picture quality was clear and in HD, none of the lines criss-crossing the screen. He nestled into the arm of the couch and let himself drift off to the sound of The Price is Right, beer still clutched in his hand.

 

The next time Dean opened his eyes, the last thing he expected was the face that greeted him. He blinked blearily a few times, eyes again adjusting through the haze of sleep. Those were blue eyes looking at him. Those were blue eyes that looked like they held galaxies, blue eyes full of depth that could only belong to one person.

"Cas," Dean said, more of a statement than a question.

"Hello, Dean," came the rumbled reply.

Dean sat up, surprised to feel the cracked leather of a bar booth behind his back. "What--" he began, only to feel Cas's hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him back into the seat.

"Rest. Please. You've been through a lot."

Dean shook his head, blinking slowly. "What happened? Where--where am I?"

Cas sighed, shaking his head and smiling softly. He helped Dean into a sitting position, leaning into the booth. Cas slid into the other side, his knee brushing Dean's as he sat down, the contact making Dean's heart flutter. "This is always a difficult conversation," Cas began, lacing his hands together on the Formica tabletop.

Dean let himself slide further down the seat, taking comfort in the worn leather. It reminded him of the Impala, it made him want to relax into it and sleep. "What is?" He asked, confusion evident on his face.

Cas unlaced his hands, scratched at his neck, and loosely linked them back together on the table. Dean itched to take one in his own hands, so he did. It wasn't a new thing, he and Cas had held hands before, done far more than that before.

Cas looked down at their now conjoined hands, one of his resting into both of Dean's. His lips quirked up again at the sight. "I'm not one for tact..." Dean snorted, Cas squeezed his hand, "So I'm just going to tell you. Dean, you're dead."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed. He shot up in his seat, no longer tired, no longer anything but completely alert. He didn't let go of Cas's hand, but he did eye it warily, as if it were a snake and he had wandered into its den. "I'm what?"

"Dead, Dean. You're dead." He huffed quietly to himself. "Actually, I am, too. We both are."

"Cas, what are you talking about?"

Cas leaned forward, staring into Dean's eyes in a way that forced him to look back. "I need you to listen to me. I need you to remember. We were in a car crash, Dean. A semi side-swiped us, just like it once did to you, Sam, and your father. Except this time everyone was dead on the scene. We were in the Impala, Dean; you, Sam, and I. None of us made it. Remember."

And Dean did. He remembered the blaring horn of the semi, the blaring horn of the Impala. He remembered the crunch of her hull as everything gave way. He remembered his panicked glance at Sam in the passenger seat, Cas in the back. Time had slowed down. It seemed like it took hours, though it was only seconds in reality. He remembered his last thoughts, memories of hellfire burning in his skull. Dying had brought back memories. He remembered feeling suspended in time, as if he hadn't quite left his body yet. He'd looked over at Sam, seeing his now fresh corpse, his eyes unfocused. He remembered looking into the back seat to find Cas's wings burnt into the Impala. Surprising, considering he was fallen. The wings were tattered, feathers completely missing in places. He'd touched his own forehead, pulled his hand back to see his fingers covered in his own blood, dripping onto the steering wheel, onto his jeans. This was the last thing he remembered. And he'd closed his eyes to the foreboding darkness, thinking he'd wake up in a hospital bed like last time, or he wouldn't, hoping he wouldn't see Tessa's face again.

But he didn't. He'd woken up in his childhood home. "You left behind wings," he said, in lieu of anything else he could say.

"I think, maybe, despite it all, I had  _just_ enough Grace left to...go out with a bang," Cas theorized.

"Heaven is made of memories," Dean said quietly, side-stepping the topic entirely.

Cas nodded, "Yes, that's true."

Dean continued, almost not hearing Cas, "So that  _was_ my house. That was my bed, that was--" he felt himself choke on the words, "--Sammy's nursery."

The hold on his hand tightened, and Cas nodded again. "That doesn't particularly surprise me. That was the first place you ever formed memories, albeit not the happiest ones at the end."

"It all felt fake." He motioned around himself with both his arms. "All of this, it all feels fake. I feel like I'm dreaming."

Cas considered it for a moment, humming quietly. "Yes, I'd imagine it does feel like that. It's Heaven's influence. Sort of a...contentment drug, if you will. It keeps you happy and placid, since that's what Heaven is. I imagine you'll get used to it after a while, and then it won't feel like that as much."

Dean laughed, "Cas, man, I gotta be honest with you, I did not see myself ending up here. Not after everything I've done." He lowered his voice, afraid that if anyone heard him, he'd be kicked off Heaven's doorstep, if that's what this was. "I was a demon, Cas."

Cas shook his head, chuckling at Dean. "Of course you don't. Dean Winchester, you averted the end of existence again and again. You fought your whole life in the interest of nothing other than helping people. A demon deal, a stint in hell, and a stint in Purgatory wouldn't erase that. Your soul was too bright not be here. Not even demonization, not even the Mark, could stand in the way of that." He shrugged, "I effectively erased that, though, by giving my Grace to end the curse of the Mark."

And there it was, one of the many niggling sensations at the back of Dean's mind. He'd forgotten about that in his haze. Forgotten that Cas had ripped his own Grace out to rid Dean of the Mark. They'd fought about it for days, at each other's throats constantly. Cas had fallen for Dean before, but this was too much. Literally tearing out his own Grace from his body was too much. Dean wasn't worth that. He wasn't even speaking to Cas the day of the accident, content to letting him stew in his own juices until he figured out that Dean wasn't worth it, figured out a way to get his Grace back, regardless of what it did to Dean.

"Cas, your Grace. How are you here?"

Cas's eyes were downcast, staring at the table. "I'm not sure about that one. I think giving up my Grace, my ultimate sacrifice, put me back on the 'nice list,' to put it simply." He smiled wryly, "That, and I believe I was human enough at the time with my missing Grace to be considered a human soul, fit for Heaven. Hannah may also have had some influence on Heaven's decision to let me back in the gates. I can't cause any trouble if I'm dead, can I?"

Dean shook his head, laughing quietly. "No, I guess not. None of us can anymore."

Cas shrugged one shoulder, "Besides, had they put me anywhere else I would have fought tooth and claw to make my way back to you. Your soul goes nowhere without me," he said fiercely, insistently. 

Dean smiled at Cas, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Across from him was the man who had sacrificed family, his home, and everything he once was just to help Dean in his convoluted schemes to save the world. Dean leaned across the table and placed a careful kiss on Cas's lips, excited at the prospect of Cas never being able to fly away from him again. And then, just because he could, because no one else was listening and what was the point of hiding anymore, Dean took both of Cas's hands in both of his, kissed him again, and very quietly, for just Cas's ears, said "I love you."

Cas smiled a wide smile and replied, "And I you."

They sat in amicable silence for a while, Dean having long since forgiven Cas for his Grace. If they were both dead, what good would anger be?

Dean figured out after a couple of minutes that he could will anything into existence. He imagined the best burger he'd ever had, one from a shitty roadside diner in Iowa, of all places. He pictured his favourite beer and a good helping of pie. He offered it to Cas, and Cas ate from his fork, eating even though neither of them ever had to again.

It was after Dean was halfway through his burger that he realised something, or someone, intrinsic was missing. "Wait, where's Sam?" He asked.

Cas smiled wide enough to show his gums, "I was waiting for you to ask that. Sam's here. There are...some other people here to see you as well. They've been waiting for a long time."

Dean put his burger down, his stomach roiling hard enough that he didn't even want it anymore. It, along with all the other food, disappeared off the table. "Other people?" His eyes trailed towards the back door of the bar, which was beginning to open.

Cas made a wide motion with his arms, sliding out of the both and holding a hand out for Dean to grab. Dean took it and Cas pulled him to his feet, keeping his hand wrapped in his own. "Yes, Dean. Other people."

 

The door banged open, smacking against the wall behind it. A flurry of blonde rushed in, almost knocking Dean to the ground with the force with which they hit him. He instantly smelled apple pie and the scent he smelled back in the house in Lawrence. He knew this hug, knew this scent. He knew this person.

"...Mom?" The words were shaken, no longer coming from the man that he was. They came from the scared 4-year-old boy who had just lost his mother.

He felt tears dripping onto the shoulders of his t-shirt, hands clutching his back. One went up to the nape of his neck and brushed through his hair. She sniffled softly. "Dean. Oh, God, Dean. My baby."

She pulled back, and there she was, Mary Winchester in all her glory. Her hand brushed Dean's cheek, rubbing away the tears gathering in his eyes. She looked the way he remembered, all blonde hair, curls, and smiles. She laughed, an almost hysterical sound, and Dean joined her.

They held each other, and as they laughed, Dean felt a latch inside him click into place. This wasn't fake. There was no way this was fake. This was his mother in front of him, bar none. The tears flowed harder now, like a dam that had been opened up.

"Mom."

"Yes, Dean, yes. It's me."

"Really you?"

Mary laughed, and it sounded like sunshine. "Really me. I promise. This time I promise. It's not a trick, not a Djinn, not a dream. It's me."

She held him at arm's length, noting Cas shuffling around behind him. "You've grown, Dean. My, how you've grown. Such a handsome man." She eyed Cas. "And who is this? Is that Castiel?"

Dean nodded quietly, "How'd you know?"

Mary shrugged, "I asked for updates on my boys every once in a while. Dead as I may be, I am still a mother." She smiled gently at Cas. "I always knew angels were watching over you. I just didn't think it'd be this literal." She laughed as Cas looked up, his eyes soft.

"Not that I'm not positively delighted to see my child again, but why did you have to come this early?" Mary swatted Dean's shoulder, and he flinched, shrugging.

"It apparently couldn't be helped. I'm sorry. To be honest, I'm surprised it wasn't from a hunting accident."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Hunting. God, I _hate_ hunting. I hated what it led to when I was alive and I hated it even more after I was dead. I love your father to death, Dean, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive that son of a bitch for what he put you and Sam through."

Dean raised both eyebrows, surprised. "I always knew you wouldn't be happy about it, but wow, Mom."

Mary breathed out through her nose slowly. "Sorry, sorry. I guess I'm still angry."

"So you and Dad..." Dean trailed off.

"His soul was in Hell, Dean. You and Sam let him go when you unlocked the gate, but he...changed after that. He's here, but it's been a slow-going process. Both his recovery and my forgiveness. He is not the same man I knew and loved before I died, but I'm--I'm trying to get to know him again."

Dean nodded, not sure how to reply. "I've missed you," he settled on.

Mary cupped his cheek, "Oh, how I have missed you." She leaned up and placed a kiss on his brow.

She moved behind Dean, walking over to Cas and enveloping him into a hug as well. Cas knew the drill by now and wrapped his arms around her, smiling at Dean over her shoulder. Dean watched the scene tenderly, and if he had to wipe away a few more tears, well, no one had to know.

Mary pulled away and held Cas at arm's length the same way she did Dean. "Thank you for loving and protecting my son. I am forever grateful."

Cas nodded, and Dean smiled. He didn't know how his mother could immediately tell, though, so he blushed and sputtered out an indignant "Loving me?"

Mary turned to him sharply. "Dean Winchester, are you telling me that after all this time, after everything Castiel did, it's still a surprise to you that he loves you?" She tsked him quietly and threw a wink towards Cas. "Those Winchester boys are always the worst at handling their emotions. As emotionally perceptive as a bag of bricks, I tell you. Don't worry, Castiel, he loves you, too."

Cas nodded, smiling softly. Dean went to stand beside Cas and twined their fingers together. "Yeah, I do."

Dean glanced between his and Cas's hand to Mary's face. "So this doesn't...?" He motioned towards their hands with his free hand.

Mary rolled her eyes again. "You're my son, and I would have -- still do-- love you no matter what. You think I'd be angry about you wanting to be with the person who literally pulled you from hell, man or not?"

Dean nodded once, understanding what she meant.

"There are more people, Dean." Cas motioned towards the door with his head again.

 

Dean watched as a slow line of people filed out. It started with John, rough and haggard, but better-looking than he had been on Earth while he was alive. He smiled at Dean, his eyes crinkly at the corners, and slid an arm around Mary as she sidled up to him. "It's good to see you, son. We need to shoot the shit later," he said. He nodded towards Cas, smiling in greeting, and Cas smiled back.

The ever ball-capped form of Bobby Singer followed him, walking again on his own two legs with Karen in tow. "Of course it was a car crash," he mused. "You idjits always did know the worst ways to die."

Another bouncing blonde form bounded through the door, this time jumping on Dean and wrapping their legs around him. He had to let go of Cas's hand to support them. Ellen sauntered through the door, and Dean put two and two together, even though he already knew the moment she touched him. "Jo."

Jo hopped off his waist and landed on her toes in front of him. "The one and only. Looking pretty good, if I do say so myself."

He opened his mouth to thank her, but she shushed him. "Me. I meant me. My guts aren't hanging out of my abdomen anymore!"

Both Dean and Ellen flinched, and Jo shrugged, laying a soothing hand on Dean's arm. "It's okay. It was war and I signed up for the draft. I knew I wouldn't go pretty."

She looked over at Cas, "I've heard that you finally got the stick out of your ass. That's good. You also bagged yourself a nice one." She smacked Dean's ass and moved back to stand by her mother.

Dean couldn't help but laugh and shake his head. "I've missed you, too."

Jo nodded, "Damn right you have."

A whole slew of people wound their way through the door, far more than Dean would have liked, but still people he was happy to see. Ash followed Ellen and Jo, also offering up forgiveness to Dean. "Heaven's pretty cool, bro. I can still hack stuff and I don't even have to shower anymore or worry about the upkeep of the mullet," he shook his hair, "Being in stasis is pretty sweet."

Pamela Barnes came after, her eyes restored and a smile on her face. Like Jo, she smacked Dean's ass. Sarah Blake came at one point, and so did a lot of others. Some were hunters, old friends, others were friends of the family who just wanted to meet him. Some were people he'd saved that had died of old age, car crashes, or other means. They all gathered in a semi-circle around Dean, all smiling that he had joined them at last. Dean's heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest and flop on the floor. Happiness welled up inside him.

 

Finally, leading the rear of the procession, Dean's shaggy, gargantuan man of a brother, toting a little blonde on his arm. Dean's smile cracked up to his ears. "Sammy!" he smiled harder, his face aching with the force of it.

Sam nodded at him, letting go of Jess's hand long enough to squeeze the life out of Dean. "I wondered how long it'd take you to get here."

Dean punched at his arm, "Gimmie a break, Sammy, I'm dead, not stupid." He smiled over at Jess, "Damn is it nice to see you again."

Sam looked down at her, his face its own version of Dean's cracking smile. "It is, isn't it?"

 

Dean couldn't help but notice that a certain shiny stone gleamed from her ring finger.

 

The whole bar was packed with the welcoming party, and beers flowed around. Talk and laughed filled the air, and it'd been a long time since that was the only thing Dean could hear. No more screaming, no more blood, no more death. Just family and enough alcohol to down an elephant. Just the way he liked it. Jo and Ellen tended the bar, and Dean made his rounds around the room, telling stories, listening to stories, and just plain catching up. At one point during the night, the crowd had shoved Sam, Cas, and Dean onto bar stools, surrounded them in a circle, and made them tell their story. The whole story. From beginning to the end, only leaving out the most unsavory details. Dean could see Mary flinch at a lot of it, especially when they got to Sam letting Lucifer take him for a ride, and again when Dean recounted his stint as a vampire, and then at the tale of the Mark and his stint as a demon. She flinched especially hard whenever they talked about dying.

When the story finished, the boys were surprised to hear clapping erupting around them. There were cheers and people raising a glass in their honor, calling them heroes. John clapped Dean on the shoulder and told him that he was proud of him, of both his sons, for fighting so hard and wining. Because that is what they had done. They'd won. They'd conquered all they could, and now it was time to rest.

So they did. Dean rested with Cas and his family in tow, and Sam had Jess wrapped around him again.

All was good with the Winchesters, and the weary sons had finally come home to rest.


End file.
